


A Fox By Any Other Name

by Ravenhoot



Series: This Isn't How Their Story Goes [3]
Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Tragedy, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Heavy Angst, Kitlaf, Love Triangles, Not Canon Compliant, there's just a lot going on here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-23 18:43:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17688845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravenhoot/pseuds/Ravenhoot
Summary: Kit and Olaf have a secret they've not told to anyone in nearly sixteen years... but Esmé and Dewey are closing in on it.This is a continuation ofA Fox Among the Freakswith heavy flashbacks.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning for anyone who ships Olaf with Esmé and/or Kit with Dewey... you probably won't like how this ends.
> 
> This fic also jumps around a lot, so I've tried to start each chapter with whatever part of canon or this series it fits into.
> 
> Finally, the title may change. I'm not 100% set on it.

**[Two months after “Playing With Fire” / three months before the Baudelaire fire]**

* * *

 

Kit knew it was silly. Technically, she wasn’t even checked into the hotel as a guest. All the same, she was staying there for a few days until she returned to her carnival in the Hinterlands. Some might call it a superstition, but Kit liked to think of it as a tradition. _A pathetic tradition, Snicket_. Still, as she unpacked her small duffel bag (she couldn’t stand living out of luggage while at a hotel) she took the bottle of ‘39 Shiraz out and tucked it next to her socks in the top left drawer of the dresser.

Her brother would have a lot to say about her hotel habits, and all of it critical. She could practically hear him say, “Kit, how could you ever make a quick getaway if all of your things are strewn about the room? ‘Strewn about’ is an expression which here means ‘unpacked and put in respective places instead of safely secured in a go-bag in case you have to escape out the window.’” Even on his calmest day, Lemony seemed to always be waiting for some calamity to strike.

She wondered how her dear brother would feel about her superstition with the wine. Before she could think too deeply about it, there was a soft knock at the door. When she opened it, she saw a familiar face and smiled.

“Well hello, Frank. Or Ernest?”

“Definitely, madame,” the hotel manager replied with particular enunciation on the first word.

Kit stepped aside and allowed him into the room. He closed the door behind him and said, “I know you said you wanted to just settle in and get some sleep and that’s fine. We’ll start cataloging what you brought from headquarters tomorrow… but I just wanted to see if you might like to get a late dinner before that?”

“I’m not that hungry,” Kit said. Her stomach chose that moment to growl loudly.

Dewey raised his eyebrows with skepticism. “Are you sure about that?”

“Oh, ok,” Kit surrendered. “But nothing too heavy.”

“Sushi it is, then.”

Kit’s mouth watered at just the thought of sushi… but her stomach growling again made her remember…

“Mmm, no, too much rice,” she protested lamely. “How about just some cheese and fruit?”

Dewey gave her a warm smile and said, “Whatever you like, sweetheart.” He picked up the phone from the nightstand and called down to the kitchen to order the food.

Kit chewed on the corner of her lip and silently fretted. As she unpacked the last of her things from the duffel bag, she made sure there were enough clothes in the top left dresser drawer to cover up the bottle of wine. She wasn’t quite ready to explain that.

Her stomach growled again when she heard Dewey add a roll of sushi to the order. Apparently, he had a craving that needed satisfying. Kit loved sushi… but she knew she wouldn’t be eating any for at least another seven months. _That_ was something else she wasn’t sure she was ready to share. It wasn’t that she thought Dewey would be upset; on the contrary, she almost guaranteed he would be thrilled. Kit just hadn’t pictured any of it happening like this.

Kit had been seeing Dewey Denouement for about six months. She genuinely enjoyed the time spent with him - he was caring and compassionate, he made her laugh, and he was always very clear about how he felt about her. Sometimes… a little too much. Kit supposed it was easy to wear one’s heart on one’s sleeve when that sleeve (and the person wearing it) spent all of their time hidden away from the treachery of the world. Truthfully, she was a little envious of Dewey - while he catalogued all of the research that came to the Hotel Denouement, he rarely saw any of it firsthand. She’d tried to explain to him before that one of the downsides to being VFD’s “bravest field agent” was seeing some of the worst traits of humanity.

Still, things had been going rather swimmingly with Dewey ever since they’d gotten involved. _Except for that night you went back into the city about two months ago_ , a nagging voice said from the back of her mind. It was moments when that memory recalled itself that she felt stabs of shame and guilt.

To be fair, she and Dewey hadn’t officially declared their exclusivity at that point. She’d always wanted to start a family, but not like this. Sometimes, she tried to tell herself that it was possible for Dewey to be the father, but that was just to ease her own conscious. She knew it wasn’t true - once, about a year ago, Kit had been re-organizing some files that had gotten mislabeled and stumbled upon one she wished she had never seen.

The file detailed an experiment with the Medusoid Mycelium during the early stages of antidote treatment testing. In an accidental exposure that had been copiously covered up, all three of the Denouement triplets had been exposed. Thankfully, the antidote had worked but at a steep price - all three of them were left infertile.

Kit wasn’t even sure if Dewey knew about the lasting effects of his exposure. It had happened so soon after the schism and she doubted that Dr. Anwhistle had been forthcoming about the dire consequences.

“Kit?”

“Hmm?”

“You were daydreaming again,” Dewey observed.

“I was not,” she said as she flushed, “I was remembering. Two completely different things.”

“Oh, I see,” he patronized playfully. “What were you ‘remembering’ then?”

_A play, a hotel, a forbidden reunion..._

“Uhh, just...”

_Pure, unbridled passion followed by a shared bottle of ‘39 Shiraz..._

“Oh, just stupid games we used to play,” she answered vaguely. She reasoned with herself that it wasn’t technically a lie since she didn’t mention who she meant by ‘we’ and ‘games’ could be interpreted very broadly.

Just then, there was another knock on the door.

“Food’s here,” Dewey announced.

Kit breathed a tiny sigh of relief. For a few moments, they ate in comfortable silence. Dewey tried to offer her his last piece of sushi, which normally she would have gladly accepted. But she knew raw fish wasn’t an acceptable thing to eat in her condition, so she had to refuse.

“I’ve never known you to turn down sushi,” Dewey said with an edge of concern. “Let me at least pour you a glass of wine,” he added as he reached for a bottle of Shiraz that had been brought up with the food.

Kit balked when she realized it was the same exact wine as the bottle hidden in her dresser, right down to the year. She almost asked him where he'd managed to find it when she caught herself.

“That’s uhh, an awfully old bottle of wine, Dew,” Kit observed, hoping she sounded casual.

“Well, it’s the same kind as the bottle you always carry around.”

“You know about that?” She asked sharply.

“I figure it’s got some kind of sentimental value or story that goes along with it... so I figured I’d just get another one for us to drink,” Dewey explained.

 _Oh, Dewey,_ Kit thought forlornly.

“I can’t,” she said simply. _Because there’s only one person I can drink that wine with and you’re not him_ , her mind finished.

“First no sushi, now no wine? Kit, are you alright? You aren’t acting like yourself.”

She could see no way around it. “Dewey,” she said shakily. “I’m pregnant.”

She waited for the eventual look of panic to appear on his face. “And I know this is not ideal,” Kit continued, talking fast in a shrill voice that she didn’t recognize. “I mean, we haven’t been seeing each other that long and...” _And it isn’t even yours._

The look of panic she’d been waiting for still hadn’t arrived. _What’s wrong with him? Why is he so calm about this?!_

“I don’t expect anything from you. I just felt like you should know,” Kit finished and let her shoulders slump.

“Kit... it’s okay,” Dewey said reassuringly.

“What?”

“I said, ‘it’s okay’ and it is. You’re right - it’s not ideal, but when is anything in the lives we live?”

“You’re actually okay with this?” Kit asked.

“I think it’s wonderful,” Dewey replied sincerely.

Kit managed a weak smile and let him pull her into a gentle embrace. No, things were certainly not ideal. They hadn’t even said “I love you” yet and Dewey was still seemingly nonplussed about her being pregnant.  He’d taken the news better than she had expected but still, she hoped he never found out about the rest of her secret. She imagined he wouldn’t be as understanding if he knew the whole story.


	2. Chapter 2

**[During ASOUE - Between The Vile Village and The Carnivorous Carnival]**

* * *

The first time she mentioned it was in the dusty old saloon in the Village of Fowl Devotees. She’d praised him for something - what, exactly, he couldn’t remember. He’d been leaning against the bar, staring at that carved heart for what felt like the dozenth time when he heard it.

“...should have just married you instead of Jerome.”

Olaf’s arm slipped off the bar and he flailed as he tried to regain his balance.

“Y-yes, well… if you had… you would have never gotten access to the penthouse. That weasel was useful in the long run,” Olaf stammered.

Esmé had studied him for a moment before shrugging. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right! I’m always right.”

Esmé busied herself with digging through the costume trunk to find something for her police chief disguise. Olaf breathed a tiny sigh of relief as he stared once more at the heart carved into the bar. Above it, the initials V.F.D. were carved. Olaf pulled a knife from his pocket and considered scratching out the whole damn heart. Instead, he carved vertical letters beneath the acronym.

V.  F.  D.  
A   L   E   
I    A  C  
N  G   E   
     R   I     
     A  V   
     N  E   
     T  R   
         S      

“Everybody get to work,” he ordered unnecessarily. Most of the troupe was already busied with a task.

************************

The second time it came up, Olaf suspected it wasn’t a casual nuance. It was at the hospital and they’d been less than an hour into their hostile takeover. Olaf had ordered his henchpeople to find the Baudelaires and Esmé had ordered them to find the sugar bowl.

“Y’know, you two bicker like an old married couple,” said the henchman with hooks for hands. “It’s actually-”

He’s stopped short after Olaf gave him a murderous look and snarled, “Aren’t you supposed to be looking for someone?”

“Yeah, boss, absolutely,” the henchman said and scurried from the room.

Esmé shrugged. “He’s not wrong, though.”

“Excuse me?” Olaf asked distractedly. He’d been watching the camera monitors for any signs of the orphans.

“We _do_ bicker like we’re married,” Esmé pointed out.

“Yeah, well… we’re not,” Olaf said firmly.

Esmé mumbled something that sounded like, “Don’t see why not.”

“Well, for starters, you’re still married?” Olaf scoffed. “And for another…” he began, but his mouth went terribly dry all of a sudden.

“For another?” Esmé prompted.

“For another…” Olaf began. His attention was captured by movement on the monitor and he hastened to snatch up one of the two-way radios to bark out commands. Esmé growled in annoyance.

************************

Olaf had expected it to come up again at the carnival, but Esmé’s competition with Madam Lulu seemed to have taken up all her energy and attention.* 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *[A Fox Among the Freaks](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17553392).


	3. Chapter 3

**[Sometime between The Vile Village and The Carnivorous Carnival]**

* * *

Kit and Dewey were cataloging a fresh batch of letters, photographs, and reports sent in by other associates. Kit’s own report of her mission to acquire the location of the eagles’ nest was among the files. Her stomach gave an involuntary lurch when Dewey picked it up off the desk. He examined it for a moment and then narrowed his eyes and chewed on the inside of his cheek - his telltale habits of him thinking hard about something. 

“Wasn’t _ he _ in that play?” Dewey asked conversationally. 

“No?”

“Strange. I could have sworn I saw his name in the program that was attached to your report.”

“W-was he?” Kit stammered uncomfortably. 

Dewey flipped to the back of Kit’s report to find the program. “Yes, here it is.” He pointed to the list of names outlining who’s who in the cast.

“Oh, how about that. I guess he got sick or something and they had to use the understudy.”

“On opening night?”

“I know, imagine how pissed he probably was.”

Dewey smiled with contained amusement and filed the report away. 

She hated lying to Dewey. It made her feel despicable and unworthy of his affection. But she was afraid that if he found out the truth about that night - that she’d betrayed his trust and fallen back into the arms of a current enemy and former lover - that he’d never look at her the same way again. And she liked how he looked at her. The way he was looking at her at that very moment. It was a look of adoration. And she wasn’t ready to give that up. So, she lied. She did a wicked thing for a noble reason. 

They finished their work in silence. Once the last of the documents had been filed, Dewey reached across the desk and placed his hand overtop of hers. 

“Kit,” he began with a deep breath. “You know how I feel about you.”

Kit sat stone still. She hoped she was wrong about where this conversation was about to go. 

“I know our lives are unpredictable and crazy, but I want to spend mine with you,” Dewey continued. 

“Dewey, wait,” Kit entreated. She placed a hand on her stomach and a sense of dread settled over her. He wouldn’t be doing this if she wasn’t pregnant.  _ He’s just doing this because he thinks it’s the right thing to do _ . 

“No, Kit. I’m done waiting.”

“No, I just need you to listen to me for a second-”

“Kit, just let me get this out.”

“Dewey, please!”

“Kit, I want you to marry me!”

Her heart dropped into her stomach. She didn’t trust herself to speak, so she said nothing. Dewey was looking at her expectantly. His hopeful expression made Kit hate herself. 

“Dewey,” she said tearfully. 

“Uh-oh,” he sighed. “I have a feeling I know what that tone means.”

“No, it’s not what you think,” Kit implored. 

“No? Then what is it?” Dewey didn’t sound angry or resentful. He just sounded defeated. Kit didn’t know which was worse. 

“I... can’t explain,” Kit lamented. 

“Can you try?”

“I’m sorry,” she said with her head bowed low. “I just can’t. But you shouldn’t want to marry me anyway.”

Dewey sighed and stood up. He opened the door to his private rooms and lingered in the doorway, his wrist resting on the doorknob. 

“Why not?”

Kit just smiled ruefully and shook her head. Dewey sighed again and closed the door behind him. Kit stood in the round room and peered up at the rows upon rows of filing drawers. 

“Because I’m already married,” Kit whispered to no one. 

_ ~~~~~~~~~~ _

_ They hadn’t planned it to happen that way. But when they took a mission to America and wound up completing it two days ahead of schedule, they had nothing to do but wait until their flight home. When Olaf had suggested they take in the sights of New York City as proper tourists, Kit had initially balked at the suggestion. But after a visit to see the famous Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center and a horse-drawn carriage ride through Central Park, Kit was fully on board with doing anything and everything tourist-y. _

_ It had been on the carriage ride that he’d suggested it. Kit’s hands were freezing, so Olaf had taken them in his own and brought them to his mouth to blow warm air on them. Seeing Kit’s engagement ring gave him the idea.  _

_ “Kit?” He’d asked hesitantly.  _

_ “Hmm?” Her head was rested on his shoulder as the carriage made its way through the park.  _

_ “How many times has our wedding been delayed now?” Olaf knew it had to be at least three years since this was their third Christmas together since getting engaged.  _

_ Kit made a contemplative noise. “Three at least. Four if you count the time we were just going to go to city hall and ‘get it over with’ as my brother so romantically put it.” _

_ Olaf remained quiet.  _

_ “What’s on your mind?” Kit probed.  _

_ “Kinda feels like it’s never going to happen, doesn’t it? I mean with missions and VFD and... all of it,” Olaf said dejectedly.  _

_ Kit sat up a little straighter and looked him in the eye. “Wait, do you... Do you not want it to happen anymore?” _

_ “No! I do!” Olaf insisted frantically, terrified that she’d mistaken what he’d meant. “It just feels like if we keep waiting for the timing to be perfect...” _

_ “Then we’ll be waiting for the rest of our lives?” Kit finished for him.  _

_ “Pretty much,” he agreed with a shrug.  _

_ “So... what are you suggesting?” Kit asked with a bit of a knowing smile.  _

_ “Well... what about here? Now? I mean, not right now this instant, but... here in New York?” Olaf’s voice quavered slightly the way it did when he was a bundle of nerves.  _

_ “Olaf Crivelli, are you asking me to elope with you?” Kit asked with a wide grin.  _

_ “Are you saying yes?” _

_ “Of course I am!” Kit squealed.  _

_ Olaf leaned over to kiss her and only jumped slightly as her icy cold nose pressed against his cheek.  _

_ The carriage driver turned around in his seat to face them.  _

_ “I couldn’t help but overhear - congratulations.” _

_ “Thank you,” Kit said softly as she clung to Olaf’s arm, nuzzled closely to ward off the cold.  _

_ “Just so youse know, you gotta wait twenty-four hours after you get the marriage license to actually get married,” said the driver.  _

_ “Oh! Well, that’s helpful to know,” Kit declared. “Thank you, sir.”  _

_ “And where exactly do we go to do that?” Olaf inquired.  _

_ “Marriage Bureau of the Clerk’s Office,” answered the driver. “I can drop youse off to get a cab if you like.” _

_ “Please,” Kit replied gratefully.  _

 

_ The next evening, Kit and Olaf stood atop the Empire State Building. The carriage driver, whom they had learned was a licensed officiant and announced he would be glad to perform their wedding, stood before them. Another tourist, a stranger, had squealed with delight when she’d realized a couple was getting married at the same time she chose to visit the top of the building and said she would be delighted to be their witness. They had entertained the idea of finding the New York City field office and having an American VFD member be their witness, but decided they’d prefer it if no one in the organization know just yet. _

_ Kit wore an elegant cream-colored peacoat and where Olaf had managed to find a tuxedo in such a short amount of time, Kit never knew. It had begun to snow earlier in the day and though the night was cold and blustery, no one seemed to notice. Though Olaf was petrified of heights, he'd braved the top of one of New York's tallest buildings for her - to see her happy. _

_ There hadn’t been time to select rings, but Kit had come up with a fitting alternative. She had disassembled her spyglass into the two pieces and had given one half to Olaf. When the ceremony reached the part where couples would usually exchange rings, Kit and Olaf connected the two halves of the spyglass back together as carriage driver-turned-officiant spoke of an ancient Greek belief that humans were originally created with four arms, four legs, and two hearts. That they were split apart at their creation and the other half of themselves, their soulmate, was somewhere out there. And that those who found their true other half were destined to never be alone in the universe again. It was in that way that Kit and Olaf vowed to love one another until the end of their days. The carriage-driver pronounced them man and wife and they shared an embrace as the snow swirled around them _ . 

~~~~~~~~~~

Kit sighed and zipped up her jacket. She needed to head back to the carnival soon anyway. Her fingers lingered on the interior pocket of the jacket, where she knew her half of the spyglass rested. She had a whole one, of course, for her work with the volunteers. But she’d never been able to bring herself to let go of the other one. The one that represented a life that was a distant memory. 

She chided herself. She knew she was being stupid for carrying it around all those years. Surely, he didn’t still carry his half. But no matter how hard she’d tried, she could never bring herself to leave it behind. She wondered if he’d had his with him when they’d met by chance in that theatre lobby. 

_ Was it truly chance?  _ She asked herself.  _ Or did you linger there hoping to catch a glimpse of him? _

Another flash of memory from that forbidden night passed through her mind. His long, slender fingers opening the bottle of Shiraz with such precision. It led her to remember the first night they’d ever shared that particular wine… the night he’d become her husband. After sharing that Shiraz for the first time, Kit had slipped the empty bottle into her bag, unseen by Olaf. She would track down every last bottle of that wine if she had to, but she’d been determined that they would always have a bottle to share every year on that night.

If she had known then what she knew now, would she still have taken the same path to get there? Her mind told her no, that she would have been smarter and less brazen. But her heart reminded her of how he’d set aside his fear of heights to marry her at the top of the Empire State Building and she knew that given the choice, she’d do it over and over, again and again, even though they would ultimately end up on opposite sides of a bitter schism. 


	4. Chapter 4

**[From here and through the remaining chapters, this is a continuation of "A Fox Among The Freaks"]**

* * *

 

Esmé was seething. She was wondering how long it would take him to admit that he knew who Madame Lulu was. Esmé was mostly furious because she didn’t kill the little harlot when she had the chance. They had traveled halfway up the mountain and she hadn’t uttered a word since they cut the Baudelaire kids loose. She couldn’t even muster up the energy to get excited about sending that caravan careening down the mountain to its doom.

Olaf drove up the steep mountain pass with tense hands on the wheel. He suspected what Esmé was angry about, but he didn’t dare bring it up while they were all crammed together in the car. Things were already tense enough. After one of the longest car rides of his memory, they arrived at the top of Mount Fraught. As if they sensed the tension, Olaf’s troupe immediately busied themselves with setting up camp and finding provisions for a fire. Which left Olaf and Esmé alone with nothing to say to one another. Though he hoped for it, Olaf knew Esmé wouldn’t just ignore it and pretend as if it had never happened. And Esmé would never openly ask him - she wanted him to admit it himself.

“Isn’t there anything you need to tell me?” She asked with a hiss.

“Um… you have snow in your hair?”

“About _Madame Lulu,”_ Esmé fumed.

“Well, obviously she was a fraud,” Olaf supplied. “Uhh, besides, didn’t she fall into the lion pit?” He could only hope that Esmé had somehow missed who actually fell in.

“No, that dumpy librarian fell in. The gypsy survived. I ran into her outside the big top after Hooky and the others started burning the carnival.” Every word was punctuated with fury.

“Oh.”

“‘Oh’ is right. Don’t you want to know who she was?”

“What do you mean, ‘who she was’? She was just some nobody who ran a washed-up carnival.” Olaf tried to sound like his usual, collected self.

“Either you’re just that stupid and you genuinely don’t know... or you’re putting on one of your best acts yet,” Esmé snarled.

His instinct was to look smug at the acting praise and outraged at being called stupid. He almost responded that _of course_ he wasn’t stupid and _of course_ he knew who she was and _of course_ he was that good at acting. But the retorts died on his breath when he forced himself to remember what was at stake. _For once in your goddamn life, Crivelli, swallow your foolish pride. Her life depends on it... both of their lives._ Olaf shook his head in confused wonder. He hadn’t acknowledged his own last name in over a decade. He’d often forgotten he’d ever had one.

“Esmé, I genuinely don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said with a sigh, throwing his shoulders up and his arms out in a shrug of defeat.

Esmé stared at him for a long moment and finally huffed with indignance. “Whatever, then. The twins have finished setting up our tent anyway.”

“We’re actually triplets,” one of the white-faced women said.

“I don’t care,” Esmé said coldly. She retrieved a bottle of wine from a box in the backseat of the car.

“Olaf, come on,” she commanded. “We’ll pop open this wine and you can rub my shoulders. They’re tense from that long ride up the mountain.”

Olaf was too tired to argue and dutifully followed her to the tent. Just as they were about to enter it, Esmé held up the bottle to examine it more closely.

“Hmm, a ‘39 Shiraz. At least we managed to come away from that carnival with some decent wine.”

Olaf snatched the bottle from her hand. He held it by the neck and stared at it. “We... can’t drink this.”

“Excuse me?” Esmé clipped.

“I can’t... I mean, we can’t drink this wine.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“Wasn’t it Ma- er, the gypsy’s?” Olaf asked hesitantly.

“Yes, so?”

“She was planning to double-cross us, Esmé. It’s probably poisoned.”

“Olaf, has the thin mountain air relieved you of all your wits? The bottle is sealed.”

“It’s not worth the risk. Hooky! Take this bottle back to the car,” Olaf ordered.

“Why are you keeping it if it’s poisoned?” Esmé asked suspiciously.

Olaf shrugged. “Might come in handy against an enemy.”

The hook-handed henchman accepted the bottle from Olaf. He glanced at the label and cast Olaf with a knowing look.

“Hey, boss... isn’t this the same-”

He stopped immediately when Olaf gave him a piercing glare. “Nevermind, I was thinking of something else. I’ll, uh, put this in the trunk.”

Olaf placed a hand at the small of Esmé’s back and ushered her into the tent before anything else could be said about the wine. A short while later, he was indeed massaging her shoulders when she said something that nearly made him have a heart attack.

“Darling, I’ve been thinking... I really think we should get married.”

Olaf took in such a sharp breath he started coughing violently, causing Esmé to twist around in alarm.

“Wh-where did th-that come from?” Olaf demanded shakily once he’d managed to stop coughing.

“Well... we’re already partners in our schemes and plots,” Esmé reasoned. “And if we got married, we wouldn’t have another...  _incident_ like the carnival.”

“Incident?”

“Like a gypsy whore trying to weasel you away from me!” Esmé shrieked suddenly.

Olaf reminded himself to take steady breaths. “Umm, but, aren’t you still married to Jerome, darling?”

“Just legally,” Esmé said with an unconcerned shrug. “But I can pay someone to make that go away.”

“Esmé... this is crazy.”

“Crazy?” She repeated shrilly. “No, darling. Crazy is chasing orphans all over the goddamn place trying to steal a fortune you don’t need because I’m three times as wealthy. Crazy is wanting to keep that sniveling idiot Jacques Snicket alive when he would have ruined everything. Crazy is sucking up to a cheap fortune teller who got her look from an even cheaper costume shop. And crazy is turning down your insanely attractive and fashionable girlfriend when she tells you she wants to marry you!”

Olaf stared at her with no reply. She stared back for a few seconds and then let out a growl of annoyance.

“Fine,” she seethed. “I’m going to sleep. I’m going to take great pleasure in burning down that headquarters tomorrow.”

Olaf lied down next to her and stared up at the red and yellow striped tent canvas. He both anxiously anticipated and dreaded the next morning. All he could do was hope that the subject of marriage would never, ever come up again.


	5. Chapter 5

Olaf had only just begun delegating tasks to his troupe the following morning when he got a chill. It wasn’t the kind of chill one gets from being outside in cold weather. This chill was the result of an ominous presence suddenly descending over the camp. His sense of dread was confirmed when a pair of sinister people appeared across the plateau. 

Olaf’s confidence plummeted faster than the Baudelaires in that carnival caravan. No matter what he did, they never seemed to be satisfied or impressed.  He felt like all he’d been doing for over fifteen years was vying for their approval but coming up just shy of achieving it. 

After getting over the initial shock of their sudden appearance, he had spent most of his energy on tuning out their most recent string of criticisms. He had hoped that divulging his plan to burn down the VFD headquarters would earn him a little credit with them, but they doused the fire to his enthusiasm by telling him that they had already committed the arson. 

_ So much for finding out if there was a survivor at headquarters, _ Olaf thought bitterly. 

“There aren’t any survivors anymore,” the man said ominously. 

Olaf grimaced. “So, when you say there are no survivors, do you mean you  _ killed  _ them or there weren’t any there? Because I’m just not clear on--”

“The place was deserted!” The man with a beard but no hair said sharply. 

Olaf held his hands out in a gesture of defensive understanding. The woman with hair but no beard was peering at Olaf with a malicious smirk. 

“We did run into one of your... associates. The Snicket girl,” she jeered. 

The temperature on the mountain was already below freezing, but in that moment, Olaf would have sworn it had plummeted to subzero. He tried to keep the panic from his voice when he asked, “What did you do with her?”

_ Why would she come up here?! She knew we were searching the headquarters for a survivor. Maybe she was trying to warn whoever it was before we got here? Or maybe she was trying to safeguard the sugar bowl? Still, she shouldn't be running around a fucking mountain by herself. She's pregnant for Christ's sake. Fuck, _ **_the baby!_ ** The blood rushed from his face and his stomach lurched uncomfortably.  _ If they harmed a hair on her head, I’ll kill them.  _

Olaf thought all of this in an instant. He realized with a jolt that Esmé was glaring at him. He wondered if she knew who Madame Lulu had really been. And suddenly he realized that of course she knew. Why else would she be this irritable?

Seconds seemed to stretch to hours as he waited for the sinister man to reply.  

“She got away,” said the man with a beard but no hair. 

An involuntary sigh of relief escaped Olaf. He tried to cover it as a cough. 

“But she won’t get far. She’s out there all alone. If the elements don’t get to her, the wolves or the eagles will.”

Esmé was seething but for entirely different reasons. She  _ knew _ she should have killed Snicket when she had the chance. They’d disposed of her brother already, Lemony had long been presumed dead. All that had been left was the loathsome Snicket girl… and her one shot to get rid of her for good and she’d missed. And now the meddlesome little bitch was somewhere on this mountain. Esmé wondered if she could slip away unnoticed to finish her off. 

Olaf was still preoccupied and as a result, he didn’t hear the two sinister associates address him. 

“Olaf!” Esmé snapped. 

Olaf jerked out of his troubled contemplation. He looked around sheepishly as the entire troupe stared at him expectantly. 

“What?”

“This is why you’ve never amounted to anything, Olaf,” said the bearded man with no hair. 

“Mind always in the clouds or on the stage when you should be thinking of bigger fish to fry,” added the woman with no beard. 

“No, the baby is cooking the fish,” Olaf countered with confusion. “And I don’t think she’s actually frying it…”

The unbearded woman let out a sound of disgust. “Ms. Squalor, maybe you should just do it yourself.”

“Do what?” Olaf asked sharply. 

“They believe that Snicket has the sugar bowl,” Esmé explained with obvious vitriol. “They’re going to make arrangements to kidnap those snow scout brats and we’re going to hunt down Snicket and take back the sugar bowl.” 

“What?” Olaf asked stupidly. 

“Which part was not clear to you?” Esmé snipped. 

“Just that if they ran into...” He swallowed down the desire to use her first name. “The Snicket girl last night, she’s bound to be long gone by now.”

“Oh, she’s still out there. The eagles would have returned to us if she’d left the area,” said the woman with no beard. 

Olaf forced himself to take a deep breath. He could feel a panic attack approaching and needed to keep his composure.

“Darling, you don’t look well,” Esmé crooned. “Why don’t you go and lie down and I’ll go get the sugar bowl.”

“No, you can’t go off by yourself,” Olaf declared. There was no way he was letting her go off to hunt down Kit. He knew she would kill her - knew it as surely as he knew the sun would set in the west. 

“But darling--”

“I said  _ NO _ !” 

Everyone jumped at Olaf’s outburst, even the two sinister associates. 

“You ought to just let Ms. Squalor hand this, Olaf,” said the bearded man. 

“Yes, she has enough motivation to handle the task herself,” agreed the non-bearded woman. “Besides, do you  _ really _ think you’re capable of doing what has to be done?”

She fixed Olaf with a knowing glare. Over the previous few minutes, Olaf’s panic and concern had been transforming into fury and rage. He bared his teeth and returned her glare with ominous, hooded eyes. 

“I killed her brother, didn’t I?” Olaf growled. “I can handle one more Snicket.”

“That remains to be seen,” replied the bearded man. 

“Well, time is of the essence,” stated the woman with hair but no beard. “Get moving, you two.”

The two associates retreated to Olaf and Esmé’s tent. Almost as an afterthought, the woman stuck her head out of the tent and addressed Olaf’s troupe. “And while they’re gone, get rid of the Baudelaire brat.”

The troupe looked back and forth between the sinister associate and Olaf several times but no one said anything. Once the woman had disappeared behind the tent flaps, Olaf and Esmé prepared to hike off into the woods. Olaf pointed a finger at his hook-handed henchman and snarled, “The baby better be alive when I get back.”


	6. Chapter 6

They had been hiking in silence for over fifteen minutes. Esmé gripped the handle of the extremely long knife she carried, just waiting for a glimpse of that loathsome brunette. Olaf carried his own machete and savagely hacked at every branch or bush that was even slightly in his path, making as much noise as possible.

“Will you stop it!?” Esmé hissed. “With as much noise as you’re making, we’ll be lucky to happen upon a fucking squirrel, much less Snicket!”

 _That’s the idea_ , Olaf thought.

Something about his expression must have betrayed his thoughts because Esmé suddenly narrowed her eyes suspiciously and practically seethed, “Or was that your plan?”

“Excuse me?” Olaf shot back.

“I’m not stupid; you didn’t come out here with me because it ‘wasn’t safe’ for me by myself. You came so you could make enough goddamn noise to wake King Arthur and give _her_ the chance to escape!”

“That… is preposterous,” Olaf insisted.

“Is it, though?” Esmé snapped. “If it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t even be up on this mountain to begin with!” 

“How is any of this _my_ fault?!”

“If _you_ had made finding the sugar bowl the priority at the hospital, we never would have wound up at that carnival and then this despicable mountain!” Esmé accused.

“Wellllll, if we’re singing that song, _dearest -_ if _you_ hadn’t set that librarian loose in the village, she never would have had time to warn the other volunteers!”

“Well, if _you’d_ had the stones to actually kill Jacques like you take credit for doing--”

“ARRGHH!” Olaf roared and threw the machete, lodging it in the trunk of a thick tree.

“Honestly, _what_ has gotten into you?!” Esmé shrieked.

Olaf had no answer. He couldn’t tell Esmé what the real root of his irritation was.

“This is ridiculous,” Esmé huffed. “If Snicket _was_ still out here, she’s gone now. Everything for a damn mile away will have heard the noise you were making.”

“Well, you weren’t the star of any silent film either,” Olaf chided. He knew it wasn’t wise to stoke her anger any further, but he couldn’t find the desire to care.

“You know, if you’d have just listened to me back in the village, none of this would be happening,” Esmé grumbled.

“What are you going on about, now?”

“I told you back at that village - I’ve got enough wealth and money than both sets of those orphans. I don’t know why you insist--”

“ _Because it_ \--”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Esmé said with an impatient wave of her hand, “it’s yours! But honestly, what difference does it make _where_ you get it from? I’ll ask you again - why can’t we drop this chase and the two of us be happy in our piles of wealth? Forget the Baudelaires, darling, and let’s get married!”

“I told you in that village and I’m telling you now - no,” Olaf insisted.

“Ugh,” Esmé grunted. “Do you have a good reason for why not?”

Olaf cast her an incredulous stare. “Um, for one thing, you already have a husband? Did you forget that finite detail?”

Esmé shrugged. “So we’ll kill him,” she said nonchalantly.

“Jesus Christ, Esmé,” Olaf scoffed. “No.”

“Oh, don’t go noble on me,” Esmé retorted. “I never loved that idiot and you know that.”

“It would hardly matter,” Olaf muttered under his breath.

“Oh?? And why not?”

_Shit._

“What’s that?” Olaf feigned ignorance.

“Why would it hardly matter if Jerome was dead?”

“Just drop it, Esmé,” Olaf begged with an exhausted sigh.

“No. Tell me why it wouldn’t matter.”

“I said drop it.”

“Tell me why.”

“I don’t want to,” Olaf whined.

“ _TELL ME WHY!”_ Esmé roared.

 _“Because you’re not the only one who’s still married!”_ Olaf finally bellowed.

Esmé stared at him, shellshocked. She stood with her arms loosely at her sides, the machete grasped lightly in one hand. Olaf realized the flaw in confiding that detail while she was so dangerously armed. Agonizing seconds passed as they stared at each other. Finally, Esmé did the one thing Olaf had not expected; she laughed.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Olaf,” Esmé said between snorts of laughter. “When were you ever married?”

She continued to chuckle softly but the bursts of laughter came less frequently. Finally, she stopped forcing them when they wouldn’t come naturally and clenched her teeth.

“Wait,” Esmé said as realization dawned on her. “Oh-ho-ho! That explains _so much!_ Like why you’re out here keeping me from finding her! Or why you wouldn’t push her into the lion pit! Or why you choked in the village - couldn’t bear to deal the fatal blow on your own _brother-in-law_ , could you!?”

Olaf stared at the snow-covered ground. The cold had all but numbed his feet, but he hardly noticed. He was remembering another blustery winter night, many years ago, atop the Empire State Building in New York City...

~~~~~~~~~~

_Freezing hadn’t even begun to describe the temperature on that New York night. He could only just vaguely remember what feeling in his toes felt like but it hardly mattered. What mattered was the woman standing in front of him, a vision of radiance in an elegant snowy peacoat._

_Despite his crippling fear of heights, he had suggested the top of the Empire State Building. Kit had objected, not wanting him to have any negative memory associated with that night. But he’d seen her eyes light up at the carriage driver’s suggestion and he couldn’t deny her. He’d insisted he would be perfectly fine and strangely enough, he was._

_The entire elevator ride up, he’d been a nervous wreck (whether from the height or the impending nuptials, he wasn’t sure). But once they reached the top - once they’d passed the point of no return - his phobia evaporated. It was as if there was no more room for it, for every one of his senses was focused on her. The feel of her delicate hand in his, the melodious sound of her laughter as he wrapped his scarf around her neck, the sight of snow sticking to her auburn hair, the faint scent of lavender that he always associated with her… and the anticipation of the taste of her kiss._

_The officiant read a passage about two halves becoming whole as he and Kit pressed two halves together to form a whole spyglass. Kit promised to love him until her last breath and Olaf, never one to be outdone, promised to love her well beyond his._

~~~~~~~~~~

“I can’t believe you married her,” Esmé cringed, dragging him out of the memory. “Well, now killing her will be _so_ much more satisfying.”

“If you lay a finger on her...” Olaf growled.

“You’ll do what, exactly?” Esmé taunted. “Nothing, that’s what you’ll do. You’re an enemy to VFD, Olaf. They would kill you on sight, and she’s no exception.”

Olaf thrust his hands into his pockets in frustration. His left hand brushed against cold metal and for a brief moment, he chided himself for carrying the stupid thing all these years.

 _Maybe Esmé is right,_ he thought bitterly. Surely Kit had moved on from their youthful fantasy that they’d love each other forever. He fingered the half of the spyglass in his pocket again. _No,_ he thought savagely. _The rest of VFD might kill me on sight, but she wouldn’t… would she?_

“Olaf, darling, abandon this foolish crusade,” Esmé urged. “Let’s just go back to the tent, crack open that bottle of wine and relax.”

~~~~~~~~~~

_When they’d ridden back down the elevator and reached solid ground (Olaf’s fear of heights seemed to return just as the elevator settled on the ground floor) the carriage driver handed Olaf a bottle of wine with a bow attached to the neck._

_“What’s this?” Kit had asked._

_“It’s bad luck to for a bride and groom to not receive a wedding gift.”_

_“I’ve never heard that before,” Kit wondered aloud._

_“I’m not surprised,” said the carriage driver. “I just made it up.”_

_“Really, you don’t have to do this,” Kit insisted._

_“You’ve already done plenty for us,” Olaf agreed._

_“Nah, think nothing of it.”_

_“Well… thank you, um…” Kit faltered, realizing that she didn’t even know the name of the man who’d married them._

_“Call me Sal,” said the carriage driver._

_“Thank you, Sal,” Kit said warmly._

_“You two got a nice place to stay tonight?” Sal asked._

_“The Waldorf,” Olaf replied with a nod._

_“Woo! He’s doin’ right by you already, sweetheart!” Sal exclaimed to Kit. “Enjoy that wine, you two. It’s my wife’s favorite so if you don’t, I’m gonna lie to her and tell her you did.”_

_Kit and Olaf both laughed. They thanked him again. As he bid them goodbye, he shook Olaf’s hand firmly with a curt, “Viscount Crivelli.” He took Kit’s hand, kissed it gently, and said, “Lady Crivelli."_

_Later that evening as they opened the bottle of wine, Olaf examined the label. “Hmm, thirty-nine Shiraz,” he observed appreciatively. He poured them each a glass, handed Kit hers, and crooned, “You’re mine now. Forever.”_

_Kit giggled into the glass and said, “I’ve always been yours.”_

_“Little Fox,” Olaf murmured as he leaned in to kiss her. Their lips touched just briefly before he drew back barely an inch. “My darling wife,” he added with a seductive purr._

~~~~~~~~~~  


“No,” Olaf said sharply.

“No?” Esmé repeated.

“No, you’re not opening that wine,” Olaf insisted.

“What is with you and that stupid wine?” She wondered in annoyance. “Unless… Wait, don’t tell me.”

 _Wasn’t planning on it,_ he thought sourly.

“Let me guess - that wine has some significance to you and _her,_ doesn’t it?”

“For fuck’s sake, Esmé!” Olaf erupted, finally losing his cool. “Is it so preposterous to imagine that I had an entire _life_ before it was stolen the night Beatrice threw that dart?”

“No, what’s preposterous, Olaf, is that you still cling to shards of that life almost sixteen years later!”

“Oh, please,” Olaf retorted snidely, “have everything you’ve ever loved ripped away from you in an evening and then get back to me.”

“I did!” Esmé shouted back. “Or have you forgotten what Beatrice stole from _me_?!”

“Are you serious?! Your sugar bowl? Your _goddamn sugar bowl_ is what you’re comparing this to? You cannot possibly be this superficial,” Olaf shook with fury.

“You… have no right,” Esmé quaked.

Olaf threw his hands out in disgust. “I’m going back to camp. Search the whole fucking mountain, for all I care. You won’t find her. Kit’s way too smart to stick around after running into _those two_.” He shuddered involuntarily when he mentioned the two sinister associates waiting back on the mountain’s peak.

Esmé drew herself up to her full height. “Fine,” she said forcefully.

“Fine,” Olaf repeated.

“Fine.”

“Fine!”

Esmé grunted in aggravation and spun on her heel, marching off in the opposite direction of the camp. Both kept hollering “Fine!” back at one another until they could barely be heard, neither willing to let the other have the last word.

Not long after, Esmé literally stumbled upon the ruins of the VFD headquarters. As she marveled at the handiwork of the two delightful associates Olaf was so afraid of, she wasn’t paying attention to where she was walking and stepped right into what was once a hot tub. When she realized that none other than the Baudelaire brats were peering down at her, she was initially thrilled. 

_ Wait, why do I care about these orphan delinquents? I don’t want their measly fortune… Although they might know where the sugar bowl is… They still might be useful. _

The pint-sized volunteers were plotting something, she just couldn’t make out what. 

“When my boyfriend finds out that you trapped me down here… he is going to be  _ so _ angry!” Esmé shouted confidently.  _ I hope, _ she added to herself bitterly. 

Eventually, the noble brats did help her out of the hot tub and rigged some device to pull her all the way up the frozen waterfall. 


	7. Chapter 7

Kit should have been back by now. Dewey tried to busy himself with work until she returned. He sifted through a stack of papers with lackluster energy. He started to sort them based on where they would be filed when one caught his attention. The date was some fifteen years prior but that was not uncommon. Documents were often delayed in reaching the sub-sub-library. The postmark was from America, which on its own wasn’t odd, but combined with the fact that on the envelope, “RE: Crivelli” was handwritten… well, it stood out to Dewey. 

He opened the envelope with a letter opener and unfolded the documents inside. First was a letter, written in slanted, messy handwriting:

> _ “Mrs. Crivelli,  _
> 
> _ I found the information you were looking for. The address and phone number for the winery are below. My wife was as delighted as I was to hear how much you enjoyed the wine. ‘The ‘39 Shiraz, I told you they’d love it!’ That’s what she said to me when we got your letter. I hope you and your husband will enjoy it for many years to come. Thank you again for giving me the honor of officiating your marriage. Look us up if you’re ever back in New York! _
> 
> _ All the best,  _
> 
> _ Sal Scarbonello _
> 
> _P.S. I remember you two saying you had an early flight the next morning, so I assumed you didn’t get a chance to go back to the Clerk’s office. I’ve enclosed a copy of your marriage certificate for you. It was a pleasure meeting you both.”_

Dewey read through the note and paused with slight confusion. He could be wrong, but he was almost certain that the Count and Countess hadn’t gotten married in America. Dewey was rarely wrong - he remembered minute details from almost everything he read. He glanced back at the note again. The date on the top wasn’t right for the Count’s wedding to the Countess. This letter had been written a little under sixteen years ago. 

Dewey’s eyes went wide as he pulled the other document from behind the note. Stamped with the official seal of the state of New York was indeed a marriage license for a Crivelli. Just not the one Dewey had expected. He stared at the names on the page without really seeing them. He let the note and the marriage license drop down to the table and he collapsed into his chair behind the desk. 

> _ Groom: Olaf Crivelli (Visc.)   
>  Bride: Katherine “Kit” Snicket _

Dewey told himself to remain calm. That he would ask her about it when she arrived later that night. The date was so old, after all. Perhaps they’d gotten married and the divorce paperwork just hadn’t come around yet.  _ Unlikely,  _ whispered a nasty voice in the back of his mind.  _ They would have had to return to America to file for divorce, right? And what are the chances of that happening? _

He glanced at the note again. “Thirty-nine Shiraz…” He read aloud. He suddenly remembered the bottle of wine Kit always carried with her - the bottle she kept tucked away in the top left dresser drawer of whatever hotel room she stayed in. And why she would never drink it with him suddenly became all too clear. 

Just then, he heard the elevator door to the study open. Very few people knew about his sub-sub-library. “Kit, is that you?” He called.

He emerged from his private room to see… not Kit. It was the Baudelaires. 

“You’re not Kit,” Dewey announced unnecessarily. Fortunately, the interruption brought a welcome distraction. He reminded himself that there was something much bigger at play and set aside his own personal issues. He invited the children on a tour of his sub-sub-library and explained its vitality. When they emerged from the tunnel’s entrance at the front of the hotel, they found themselves face-to-face with Count Olaf. 

“Oh, good, Ernest, you’ve got them,” Olaf said. “Hand ‘em over.”

“I’m not Ernest,” Dewey announced. 

“Well, Frank then,” Olaf said dismissively. “Jeeze, part your hair to a different side or something so I can tell you apart.”

“I’m not Frank either,” Dewey said through his clenched jaw. 

“Well, you’re not Dewey. He’s a myth, like unicorns or Guiseppe Verdi,” Olaf insisted. The third Denouement couldn’t be real. If he was, then it meant that Kit… Olaf growled and returned his focus to the orphans, who were saying something about wicked people being late. 

As if she couldn’t avoid any mention of the word “fashionable,” even when it was in the phrase “fashionably late,” Esmé appeared with the Spats girl by her side. The child was waving the harpoon gun around wildly and Olaf attempted to make her stop. That child listened to no one. He really hated her.  He managed to wrestle the harpoon gun away from her. Esmé was screeching about the sugar bowl again and suddenly, the Baudelaires were turning on her. 

“You’d have our fortune if it wasn’t for Esmé!” Violet declared. 

“You stay out of this!” Esmé ordered. 

“No… They’re right!” Olaf cried. “They’d be dead and I’d be rich! You never cared about me, Esmé! All you cared about is what’s in and what’s out, the fucking sugar bowl, and free acting lessons!”

Esmé snapped. “ Oh, I'll tell you what's ‘in’ and what's ‘out.’ Being constantly unappreciated by a man whose pant leg doesn't even cover his ankle. Out! Being stuck playing second-banana in a series of increasingly ludicrous schemes in increasingly remote locations. Extremely out! I think you're gonna love this one, darling. Losing time and again to three children. Look at them. They're not even old enough to rent a tuxedo, and yet, they beat you every time! That is the outtest thing of all!”

“ Esmé… you’re fired,” Olaf announced. “And I’m breaking up with you.”

“You can’t break up with me. No one… has ever done that before,” Esmé admitted. 

“That’s what makes it so satisfying.”

Esmé gave a strangled croak and beaconed Carmelita to her. “Come on darling!”

“Is Countie not my daddy anymore?” Carmelita asked. 

“He’s not mine either, pet!”

The two villainous fashionable divas stormed off. Esmé seemed to change her mind and turned back around. She pointed a finely manicured nail at Dewey and said, “Oh, by the way, unicorn. Thought you might like to know that your precious Snicket is still married to Olaf. Cheerio!” She put her arm around Carmelita’s shoulder and the pair disappeared into the night. 

“Children,” Dewey said calmly, “I think we should--”

“Not so fast,” Olaf said as he pointed the harpoon gun at Dewey. “I’ll be taking the Baudelaires with me… and you, Denouement, will give me the three phrases to open the VFD lock on the laundry room.”

“Even if you get into the laundry room, it’s just a decoy,” Dewey said coolly. 

Olaf sniggered, “Please, do you think I was born yesterday? I’ll give you to the count of ten.”

“If you want to shoot him, you’ll have to shoot us too!” One by one, the Baudelaires stepped in front of the harpoon gun, shielding Dewey from harm. 

Olaf counted, leaving a pregnant pause between each number. The Baudelaires were trying to talk him out of it. Denouement just stood there, as if it didn’t even matter. 

Violet and Klaus were right up on him at the count of nine, both of their hands clutching the harpoon gun firmly. 

“You don’t have to do this,” Violet begged. 

“It’s all I know how to do,” Olaf admitted weakly. 

They stood frozen in that moment. Dewey sunk his hands into his pockets and sighed. “I already knew,” he admitted. 

“Knew what?” Olaf snapped. Then he saw the despondent look on Dewey’s face. “Oh.”

“Just like I knew she saw you that night in the city. She said she didn’t… but I knew she did.”

Olaf was finding it hard to look Dewey in the eyes. The man had every right to want to kill Olaf, but there was no ire upon his face. Olaf hated him on principle - he was the current lover of his… Olaf struggled to even know what to call her. Wife? True love? Kit? Little Fox? _ “I’ve always been yours.”  _ She was his. 

Olaf remembered the evening in the city all too well. He’d been on top of the world that night. He’d had a highly-billed role in a show that had gotten rave reviews. He’d reunited with his beloved wife after believing her lost to him forever. He remembered promising her he’d find her for one last kiss.  _ Seems highly unlikely now _ , he thought. 

“It wasn’t intentional, you know,” Olaf admitted. 

Dewey looked up, surprised. “What wasn’t?”

“Any of it. We got married in secret and when we got home, we just kept on pretending we were still engaged. After the schism… well, things got out of control and I guess we’d been pretending for so long we just kept on pretending and hoped it never caught up.” Olaf couldn’t quite believe he was admitting all of that - finally saying it out loud - least of all to Dewey Denouement. 

“What are they talking about?” Violet hissed to her brother. 

“No idea,” Klaus answered in a hoarse whisper. 

Olaf looked at the children for a brief moment and then glanced past them at Dewey. They would always be enemies. Olaf was still determined to get the codes for the VFD lock and the Baudelaires. Dewey was undoubtedly still determined to protect both the sugar bowl and the orphans. But just then, the two men shared an unspoken understanding.  _ For Kit. _

Olaf seemed to suddenly remember the harpoon gun in his hands. He shuddered and released it hurriedly. The Baudelaires had unintentionally loosened their grip on the weapon while Olaf and Dewey had been talking. The result was that the harpoon gun fell to the ground and with a sickening _sprong!_ _thwack!_  the penultimate arrow found its mark directly into Dewey’s chest. 

“Dewey!”

“No!”

The Baudelaires shouted and reached for him, but he was already falling backwards into the pond. 

“Kit,” Dewey choked out as he fell. 

Olaf was staring at the spot where Dewey disappeared with wide, horrified eyes. Lights began turning on, hotel guests began shouting, and that was when the whole world seemed to turn upside down. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ducks and hides from Elsaf and Dewkit(?) shippers. Sorry, I legit don't know the name of the Kit/Dewey shippers. I warned you there would be pain!


End file.
